


the sound of kids laughing made it feel like home

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Fluff, Jon Snow is King in the North, Post-Canon, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:26:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: Jon and Sansa compliment each other and they just don't know how to deal with the honest praise (prompt from riahchan on tumblr)





	the sound of kids laughing made it feel like home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first canon era attempt and I thought I'd share it. Also posted on tumblr

Sansa stood on the battlements, watching the King in the North below her. She’d stood there, waiting, watching, more times than she could count. First it was waiting for him to return, to come home, from the south, from Dragonstone. Then it was the months of waiting for him to come back a live from the north, where he’d gone to fight the Night King.

Now, though, spring had come, and she was watching a much happier sight. All the babies that had been born and survived the winter were young children now, and the King in the North, with his cloak flung over his head, was chasing them around. Squeals and laughter filled the air and for the first time Sansa thought Winterfell felt like the home she’d grown up in.

She watched as a group of children tackled Jon to the ground, defeating whatever beast he was pretending to be. She heard the fake grunts and groans he emitted and couldn’t help but smile at the sight. These children had been born into a hard and dark time, but when they were with Jon, you’d never tell that some had lost siblings, some had lost parents, and some had lost everything. They seemed like summer children whenever Jon was around them.

When the children started to be summoned by their parents, Sansa went down to help him round up the children that stayed in the keep—the ones who lost both parents during the winter and war. They carried them to their dinner in the kitchens, Sansa holding one and walking hand in hand with another. Jon had a child on each hand, a little girl clinging to his leg, and a boy with dark curls that could’ve been Jon’s on his back.

Jon deposited the children around the low table they’d had set up when they realized just how many orphans there were. Jon and Sansa turned to leave, but the children cried, begging Jon to stay with them. They called him _Jon_ , and not _my lord_ or _your grace_ , not that Jon cared. He probably preferred it that way. He told them he’d be back after he’d eaten to take them all to bed.

Sansa had waited for him at the door and he looked surprised to see her still there.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he muttered, pushing his wild curls back into a knot.

“I know.” She paused, not sure how to say what she’d been thinking as she watched him play with the children. “You’re good with them,” she settled on, her voice softer than she expected it to be. She saw his heard turn slightly towards her, but then he shrugged. She thought he looked a little uncomfortable: his shoulders not quiet as far back, his face just slightly pink.

“It’s not hard. I run around with my cloak on my head.”

“I just mean that… you’re good at making them forget. They’re happy with you. Happier than I see them otherwise.” Jon fully turned toward her then, his face, though marred by more scars than he had been before winter started, suddenly looked like the one of the little boy she had thought was her half brother. He was looking at her with such open surprise and awe that she wanted to hold him and tell him how good he was at everything, even the soft parts of ruling he didn’t think he was good at. The parts where he had to take care of people, interact with them, reassure them. Everything that came after the war and the winter.

 

Sansa knew how much that half of ruling terrified him, because he’d come to her after the spring had just started to dawn, pacing her solar in naught but a tunic and breeches.

“I’m abdicated my throne to you,” he’d said, even the door was shut behind him.

“What? Why?”

“Once we get the raven saying spring is here, you’ll be Queen in the North…” he continued, not listening to her.

“Jon, what’re you talking about?”

“I’ve just come from a meeting, with Davos and all the other lords. They were talking about grain, and stores, and wards, and orphans and I can’t do all of that. I’m good at fighting, leading men into battle. I’m not good at the rest of it. Not the way you are.”

“Jon, I’m not—”

“Sansa, I heard all about everything you did when I was in Dragonstone, protecting everyone, making sure everyone was fed, warm, safe. I know that was all you. You should be the one ruling, not me.” Sansa’s face colored red. He sounded so passionate about it that she knew he wasn’t just saying it because he still harbored insecurities about ruling because he wasn’t a Stark—he wasn’t even a Snow. He was something in between.

“Jon, I’m not who they chose. You are,” she reminded gently.

“Aye, but you’re good at ruling.” Sansa opened her mouth but nothing came out. No one had ever told her that before, no one whose praise she yearned for had, at least. She closed her mouth again, shifting awkwardly.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

 

“Well, it was your idea to keep the orphans in Winterfell,” Jon countered in the present.

“Jon, I’m trying to pay you a compliment!” Sansa sighed, grabbing the edge of his cloak—the one she’d made for him—and pulling him back. “You’ll be like Ned was with us when you have your own children.” She used her father’s name instead of calling him _father_ because she didn’t want to accidentally hurt Jon, reminding him that Ned wasn’t his father, not technically. “You’ll be a good father is what I’m trying to say.” This time his face paled instead of colored.

“Aye, but who’d want to have children with me? What would they be? Wolf, Dragon, Snow?” he asked bitterly, moving away from her. He continued down the corridor, but Sansa stood frozen.

“They could be Starks,” she called after him. His acidic laugh echoed around them as he turned.

“And how could they be Starks? I’m not one. I’m not even a Snow anymore—it’s not as though I could be legitimized. There isn’t even a king to legitimize me.” He sounded hurt, angry, broken and as though he’d thought about it more than once.

“No, you’re right. You’re not. But I am.” He whirled on her again, chest heaving with his torment about his identity. When she didn’t take her statement back, he moved towards her, close enough to embrace.

“You don’t mean…”

“I do, Jon. We’re not brother and sister. We’re not even half-siblings. I care about you and you’re home now I never want you to leave. And you deserve to have children. And… I love you, Jon,” Sansa finished, a small smile on softening her face. Jon did embrace her then, taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

“Truly?” he breathed, eyes still closed and forehead still pressed against hers.

“Truly, Jon.”


End file.
